Daughter of the Night
by Soledad
Summary: First part of the 'Anarch Chronicles'. Salvador Garcia, one of the leaders of the Anarch Revolt, meets his first future Childe. Rated for violence.
1. Chapter 1

**Daughter of the Night 1**

**by** **Soledad**

**A "Pathways in the Dark" story**

**Part 01 of "The Anarch Chronicles".**

**Disclaimer:** The vampires in this series – save a couple of original characters – belong to White Wolf and Mark Rein-Hagen. I only borrow them to have some fun.

**Rating:** varies from part to part, but in general, this series is suitable for adults only, particularly because of the violence displayed thorough it.

* * *

**Introduction**

_The Anarch Chronicles_ contains a number of loosely connected stories, all featuring the Brujah Anarch vampires of Los Angeles. The main character of the series is Salvador Garcia, one of the leaders of the most recent Anarch Revolt and author of the infamous _Anarch Manifesto_, a document encouraging all Kindred to raise against the tyranny of (mostly Toreador and Ventrue) Princes.

Salvador Garcia is a canon character from the White Wolf role-playing game _Vampire – the Masquerade_. His basic biography is given in _The Anarch Manifesto_, but I've taken some liberties with the facts, especially after he left Europe. The other RPG canon characters have been handled equally freely – barely anything else but their names and ancestry have been taken from White Wolf's online Brujah genealogies. I don't know the RPG well anyway – online research can only help you so much when you don't own the clan books – but my good friend Aislynn Crowdaughter often supplied me with necessary canon bits, for which I owe her my eternal gratitude.

Just like my other vampire stories, this series is an integral part of the _Pathways in the Dark_ universe. _Pathways_ is a complex crossover AU, where I combine _Angel – The Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Kindred – The Embraced, Poltergeist: The Legacy_ and nowadays the US-version of _Queer As Folk_ as well, to name just the most important ones. The general background is that of the White Wolf RPG, with the established vampire clans and the general history, but otherwise, I just used everything as it suited my stories most.

In all these stories – in fact, in the entire _Pathways_ universe, as he has repeated cameos in other story arcs – Salvador Garcia is "played" by actor Richard Yniguez. Imagine him as he appeared in the 5th Season Babylon 5 episode _Meditations of the Abyss_. The various online (or printed) sources of White Wolf give controversial information about Salvador Garcia's person and his undead family. I chose the version that matches the conditions of my crossover universe best, adding a few original characters and creating a connection to the excellent but short-lived TV-series _Kindred – The Embraced_, which in turn was based on the White Wolf RPG. I made Salvador an ancestor of Cameron, the Brujah Primogen of San Francisco.

**

* * *

Daughter of the Night, Part 1**

**Rating:** Adults only, please. This is a particularly violent story, so be warned.

**Summary:** On a trip to Argentina, sent to help organize the mortal Anarch movement among the poor Indios there, Salvador Garcia selects his first Childe.

**Author's notes: **According to the RPG canon, Salvador Garcia was Embraced into Clan Brujah at the mortal age of 23. Since that wouldn't quite serve the purposes of his role in my "Pathways" universe, I've made him some 15 years older and assumed that there was an age difference of 17 years between him and his murdered younger brother, Pablo. In big families of the poor on the countryside such age differences weren't that uncommon, since many children died by birth or in childhood diseases.

Canon states that Valeria was Embraced by Salvador in 1937. Her personal background and the circumstances under which she ran across Salvador are completely my doing. She's "played" by Lauren Velez, known, among other things, from the police drama series _New York Undercover_, where she played Detective Nina Moreno.

Alonzo Solace is an original character, inspired by the similarly-named pilot in _Earth 2_, there also played by Antonio Sabato Jr.

* * *

**Buenos Aires, 1936 **

The tall, dark-haired man moved through the nightly life of Buenos Aires like a shadow. He could never understand why a city as crowded and smelly like this was called _Buenos Aires_, meaning 'good air', to begin with. Maybe the meek wishes of its inhabitants had played a role in the name-giving. Twentieth-century canalisation might have helped a bit to make the city somewhat better suited for living in it, but Salvador Garcia remembered the plagues raging all over the cities like this back in his native Spain a hundred or so years ago.

Not that any human illnesses could have harmed him – he was dead already. Had been for almost half a century, in fact. Well, not _entirely_ dead, of course, since he still walked the pathways of the Dark, but not alive either. _Undead_ was the word he and his kindred used to describe their existence.

Salvador Garcia was a vampire.

And not just any vampire. He was one of the leaders of the Anarch Revolt, a charismatic rebel, one of those strong-willed, independent Brujah who refused both the rigid feudal system of the Camarilla _and_ the obscure rituals of the Sabbat. The Anarch wanted to lead their unlives as they pleased. Including duels to the Final Death and diablerie, if necessary.

Salvador himself had brought the hatred against any oppressive authority and the insatiable hunger for freedom over from his Warm days into the Night. Even among the Anarch, few were as dedicated to the case as he was.

Born in nineteenth-century Spain into a close-knit family of bitterly poor farmers in Andalusia, he'd learned the injustice of the monarchy first hand, and at a very young age. This had led him to the Mano Negra, the mortal Anarch movement of his homeland, where he'd met Ferdinand, his future Sire. He'd fought against the _aristocratia_ and their servants, the _policia_, for years, until he got caught and literally beaten to the death. He was saved by Ferdinand in the very last moment – unfortunately, it was already too late for his beloved young brother, Pablo.

Losing the person who'd been closest to him – not to mention who'd been barely grown into adulthood – had motivated Salvador to continue the fight even harder, even more dedicated… both among the Kindred against the oppressive Princes of the Camarilla _and_ supporting their mortal brethren against the oppressive state.

The later aspect was what had led him to Argentina. As it turned out, his Sire was, in truth, Don Fernando Almadóvar, the last member of a wealthy noble family, who used his considerable wealth to support the Anarch movement among mortal _and_ Kindred. He'd repeatedly sent Salvador to the overseas to help organising insurrections among the poor farmers, especially the Indios who had practically no rights in their own lands.

Salvador had been chosen for this task because he came from similar origins, and even his looks were ones that the Indios would find comfortingly familiar. He had a broad face, slightly long, dark hair and wide, dark eyes; and he was heavily built, used to hard physical labour and vicious fights. He'd even made the effort to learn the dialect the poor were speaking. But the most important thing was that he could understand the problems of the poor on oppressed, could identify with them – and had great experience with guerrilla warfare.

Thus he had been successful in everything he'd been supposed to do and still had almost a week to his disposal in Buenos Aires, to gather information, make contacts – and to wait for his _compadre_, Alonzo Solace, who was currently in South California, to prepare a new haven in Los Angeles for those Anarch who wanted to leave Europe for a free, less oppressive country.

Alonzo was the polar opposite of Salvador's in every possible aspect. The bastard son of an ancient, noble family, never accepted by his father and on his own since the age of thirteen, he'd lived on the streets of Barcelona as a child assassin and a thief, never caught, hated and admired at the same time by the others of his trade. He'd got Embraced by some unknown Brujah, never learning who actually his Sire had been and of which generation. Although an especially powerful vampire, he was practically a Caitiff, and his only chance to be accepted at all lay by the Anarch.

Ferdinand, Salvador's sire had taken the young vampire under his wings somewhen back in the late eighteenth century. Alonzo proved to be very useful for the Anarch movement: as an assassin, a deadly street fighter, and, in the most recent times, as a reckless driver and a skilled pilot. Besides, he was so beautiful that he could seduce males and females with minimal effort when it served his purposes – and had absolutely no problems with using his considerable charms to reach his agenda. But he was also fiercely loyal to Ferdinand, the only one who'd ever cared for him, and this unconditional loyalty had brought him close to Salvador, who paid his Sire the same respect.

They had been allies, friends and lovers (on and off and by no means exclusively) for half a century by now. Salvador, who'd been raised with the strict moral restrictions of a poor, conservative Spanish family, found the newly-won bisexual nature of the Kindred extremely liberating, and he didn't hesitate to taste all the pleasures that came with his undead status. But he was also very careful with selecting his lovers, as letting the wrong person close could have been very dangerous, both for him personally and the case. With Alonzo, he didn't need to worry. They were of the same mind, and they knew each other, soul-deep. Alonzo's presence in his unlife had made it easier for Salvador to deal with the untimely death of his mortal brother.

However, until the arrival of Alonzo he still had two more days, and he was now strolling through Buenos Aires, looking for a meal and for some distraction, not necessarily in that order. He would pick up a prostitute or pick up a fight, it didn't really matter. He just needed something, _anything_ to put his mind off his dark memories.

* * *

Valeria tucked the last few errant strands of her hair under the sloppy hat, checked her appearance in the mirror and made a satisfied nod. With the light grey three-piece suit that concealed the feminine curves of her body, and the hat that concealed half her face, she could easily be mistaken for a young man – a short one, for sure, but the disguise was convincing enough. Unless one knew what to look for, that is.

"It will do," she judged confidently. Madre Assumpta, on the other hand, was a lot less convinced.

"Are you sure you have to do this, _querida_?" she asked in concern. "I've already told you: we're willing to hide you here until you've come of legal age."

"That's still almost eight months yet, Madre Assumpta," Valeria shook her head, "and if my… _brother_," she spat the word with disgust, "learned of my whereabouts, he'd burn the convent _and_ the orphanage to ashes, just to get to me. I can't endanger you and the other sisters… or the children who have no other home. Manolo is the devil in flesh, and you know that."

"I do," Mother Superior said, "and that's why I'm so worried about you running off, all of your own."

"I can take care of myself," Valeria tucked a pair of revolvers into the waistband of her trousers. "My father has always known that once he died I'd be in danger. So he taught me how to handle these things, and believe me, I'm very good at it."

"Are you willing to kill your brother or his men?" the scholarly nun, her ersatz mother since the age of twelve, was clearly shocked. "I know he's an evil man, in the league with the Devil, but murder is murder, my child. They're not worth risking damnation."

"I never wanted to turn against him," Valeria sighed. "I never wanted any of this, Madre Assumpta. That's why I asked to become one of you… that, and the chance to _learn_, of course. That would have been the only way for a girl."

"And that was the false motivation," the nun said gently, "which was why we refused your application. You'd never be happy in a convent, my child. Not when you joined it for any other reason than for God alone. You'll find your way to the sources of knowledge that you desire so greatly… _if_ you manage to get out of this country alive."

"I know," Valeria hugged her tightly. "I'll miss you, Madre Assumpta."

"_Nada te turbe_," the nun quoted the old prayer, smiling through her tears, "_nada te espante. Quien a Dios tiene, nada le falta_. Be careful, my child. My prayers will follow you, wherever you go."

The offer moved Valeria deeply. Although she trusted her guns more than any prayers when it came to protection – she knew too much about her half-brother's methods, despite her sheltered life in a convent school for girls – she would never say that. She would never hurt Madre Assumpta's feelings. The nun was not only a scholar and a true angel of mercy when it came to the poor, especially the orphaned children, she was also a deeply religious person, with a true, unshakable faith in her heart that God would eventually make everything right. If not here on Earth, then in eternal life, in heaven. A true _Missionary Sister of the Sacred Heart_, all she cared about was to help people, and she trusted God to watch over her selfless work.

Tried as she might have, Valeria could never rise to this unconditional faith, even though she had spent the last ten years of her young life in the loving care of this good and wise woman. Losing her mother at the tender age of twelve had been a deep shock, from which to recover had taken her years… only to come to realize how much her half-brother Manolo, eight years her senior, hated and despised her. And even the _memory_ of her mother.

Not that Manolo would have had any deep connection to his own mother. Doňa Caterina had died in childbirth, and Manolo had been raised by nannies – frightened, submissive women who had dreaded his mood swings, as he had been a difficult child. No, what Manolo hated was the fact that _wealth_ had come to the family with Valeria's mother.

Don Ottavio de Venango, their father, had come from an old and respected but not particularly rich family. Valeria's mother on the other hand, Doňa Annunciata, was the heiress of one of the biggest _haciendas_ of the country, controlling a considerable part of beef export into the United States. Her family also owned several wineries that exported wine to various countries even to the overseas. And since she had been the one to bring money into the household, Manolo could have no hope whatsoever to get his greedy hands on the family profits.

Unless, of course, he managed to forcibly marry off Valeria to one of his puppets, through whom he'd have easy access to the considerable wealth Valeria was due to inherit on her twenty-first birthday. Which he'd been trying for the last four years. Ever since their father had untimely and mysteriously died.

So far, he hadn't succeeded. But there still were eight moths left before Valeria would come to legal age, and the pressure had been growing exponentially. Manolo had selected the "perfect" husband for her – a constantly drunk opium addict, the unworthy last twig of a once proud and wealthy family – and had gone from nagging to threatening. Valeria knew that she'd become a danger for the convent and the orphanage (the only home she'd known for a decade) if she stayed there any longer.

It was all about money, of course. _A lot_ of money, even though the _hacienda_ and the wineries had lost some of their formerly steady profits under Manolo's incompetent hand. At least the employees were still the same ones who'd brought success in Don Ottavio's times. Manolo might be devil incarnate, but he wasn't a _complete_ fool. He knew he needed those people. He just wanted all the still considerable profits for himself alone. But he couldn't touch them. Everything belonged to Valeria, and in eight month's time, she'd have all that money to her sole disposal.

If she only managed to hold out until that day, somehow. Killing her would do Manolo no good; in case she died before her twenty-first birthday, all the money would go to various charitable organizations – so many of them, in fact, that it would be impossible to harm each of them. Besides, none of the individual sums would be worth the effort. Don Ottavio had been a wise man who'd known his firstborn all too well and had no illusions.

But there was always the danger of being kidnapped. Some priests and notaries wouldn't look too close at the circumstances of a marriage, if the price was right. Or the heiress could be violated, so that she'd have no choice than to marry her rapist. Especially if they managed to get her pregnant. The high society in Buenos Aires was not forgiving towards daughters of good houses who were seen as fallen, and everyone would silently look away if Valeria got closed away in her brother's house.

The prospect of becoming a child with Manolo's puppet was worse than death, regardless if it happened within or without marriage. She would never do that voluntarily. And to avoid being forced, she had to leave Buenos Aires – in secrecy, and in a great hurry, for she couldn't really count on anyone's help. Manolo, called "El Diablo" among the local population, was greatly feared.

She took her leave from Mother Assumpta, knowing that they would probably never see each other again, and slipped out of the convent unseen… or so she hoped. The plan was to get to Chile by train, disguised as a young man, and from there on travel by ship up to the United States and find a hiding place there for the next eight months. Her father had shared ownership with the _Old Mission Winery_ in Manzanita, near San Francisco, and he had a trade office up in Los Angeles: a warehouse for the import of red wine to Europe and the States themselves.

Valeria hoped that the employees there, who'd always been loyal to her father, would help her. She spoke well enough English – or French, for that matter – to blend with the multinational population of those big cities. She could even have her inheritance validated from Los Angeles, where her father had a contract with the old and respected law firm _Navital & Waters_, without the necessity to return to her home country. The solid money that had built the capital for all family businesses was safely hoarded in the LA branch of the Bank of Lyon.

Nobody would be able to harm her or touch what was hers, once she turned twenty-one and was in the States. _If_ she could manage to get there safely, that is.

For that, she needed to reach the railway station first. She'd carefully gathered information about night trains that could take her to Santiago de Chile, and there she would find a ship up to North America, eventually. The most important thing was to leave at least the city – leaving the entire country behind her would have been even better, but she had to deal with first things first.

She couldn't afford to call a cab – Manolo's arm was too long. She couldn't know how many – and which – people were already on his paylist. So she had to walk to the railway station, which wasn't a very long way… but it led through narrow, abandoned streets with empty, partially ruined houses. It was a risky path, but it was the shortest one.

She had about two-thirds of the way behind her when she got the indescribable feeling of being watched. This was a rare instinct, probably inherited from her Indio great-grandmother; it never failed her. She was clearly being followed… and her pursuers, she can feel several persons, were getting closer. Fast.

She knew she couldn't make a successful run for the railway station. It was still too far away – and as the pursuers were carefully keeping out of sight, she could tell that this was a well-organized hunt. Whether for her personally or for any wealthy-looking passers-by, she couldn't tell, but in the end, it didn't really matter. Being killed for the money they assumed she was carrying on her or being kidnapped and violated by her brother's thugs didn't make such a big difference.

To tell the truth, she'd prefer being killed. But not if she cold do anything against it. Escape not being an option, she was determined to make it as hard for them as humanly possible.

She had six bullets in each of her revolvers, and she was a crack shot. Her father had seen to it. As much as the perspective would trouble the good Mother Assumpta, Valeria had no problems whatsoever with killing her attackers to defend herself. It was her or them, and she wasn't giving up her life easily.

She could feel them coming, all from the same direction. _Amateurs_, she thought in dismay. But their folly left her with a definite advantage. With the crumbling wall of an abandoned house in her back and an escape route that led to the right direction on her left, she pulled both revolvers, and – facing where her pursuers would have to appear – she waited.

* * *

The repeated gunshot sounds made the hunting vampire stop on his track. A shootout in a big city always meant an easy meal, especially in the outer districts, where the victims often were left behind, dead or not far from it, unattended. Some finicky Camarilla types thought such a meal barbaric and unworthy their refined tastes – especially the Ventrue and some overbred Toreadors – but the Anarch weren't that choosy. A meal was a meal, and a freshly shot victim practically as good as a living Vessel – sometimes even better, as the extra shot of adrenaline gave their blood some added spice – and not having to hunt it down personally lessened the risk of being discovered.

Consequently, Salvador Garcia changed directions and continued his hunt following the smell of gunpowder and the scent of freshly spilled blood. It was very strong; the shootout had to be happening in the direct neighbourhood. His senses were sharp, but he couldn't compare himself with those of a Gangrel, of course. He couldn't be much farther away from the fight scene than two or three streets.

He'd seen people beaten up brutally in his native Spain often enough – in fact, such an event had earned him his eternal life in the Dark – but the sight that greeted him was outrageous, even by his own measures. At least half a dozen thugs – not starving Indios looking desperately for a means to gain some money for their families but well-fed, muscular guys, probably in the service of some rich snot – were encircling an elegantly clad, slender young man who was at least a head shorter than any of them. The youngling had two revolvers, one in each hand, and apparently, he could use them rather well, as three other attackers were already lying around on the filthy ground, bleeding profoundly.

But some of the thugs had guns, too, and at the very moment as Salvador reached the battleground, one of them managed to knock one of the revolvers out of the young man's hand with a lucky shot. It was obvious that they had orders to capture the young man alive – he, on the other hand, seemed not to worry about killing them, in order to escape. What was going on here?

The young man had only one revolver left, and probably only a couple of bullets. He made them count, though, shooting the closest thug straight in the breast and injuring another one on the upper thigh. But while he was distracted with them, one of the remaining attackers crept up behind him, and grabbing his arm, wrestled the revolver out of his hand.

"Got her," the thug called out, making Salvador's head jerk up in surprise.

"Good work," the lead thug praised his guy, and, stepping up to the prisoner, backhanded him – her? – with a force that snapped her face to the side. Her sloppy hat fell to the ground, and unruly waves of thick mahogany hair tumbled over her shoulders.

She was a woman, indeed. Well, more like a young girl of nineteen, maybe twenty years.

A young girl, being attacked and beaten up by half a dozen men, twice her size. Just as it had happened to poor Iris, half a century ago.

Salvador's eyes turned silver. He let go of his control, precarious already due to the scent of so much blood, and allowed the Beast to emerge.

* * *

The man hit her so hard that Valeria thought her neck would snap and she would die on the spot. She wished it would be so, as she recognized the leader of her attackers: it was a shady character known by the name of Nostromo – supposedly a sailor, most likely a hired killer. She'd seen him with Manolo before.

It was over, then. They'd found her. Her guns were gone, her bullets all spent, there was no escape anymore. She could feel that… that _monster_'s stinky breath in her face, and it made her gag. She wished she could throw up right into that ugly visage.

"Such a feisty little _muchacha_," Nostromo growled, pawing her in obvious delight at her rage and disgust. "Seňor Durango 's gonna love to tame you, Princess. Oh, he's gonna have so much fun…"

She waited until he leaned in closer, and then slammed her forehead into his face. The crunching noise as his nose and a few teeth broke gave her dark satisfaction. She couldn't kill him, two others were holding her arms in an iron grip, but she'll see that he didn't forget this encounter. Ever.

Using her capturers as leverage, she pulled up both legs and gave Nostromo's unprotected crotch a vicious kick. That stupid animal howled and bent over in pain, covering his groin. Blood trickled from his nose and mouth. Perhaps if she made him mad enough, he'd kill her…

But no, they apparently feared "El Diablo" too much to disobey his orders.

"Tie her up," Nostromo ordered the others. "We'll take her to our keep... and play a little with her until Seňor de Venango arrives."

Valeria didn't even have the time to panic – which she most certainly would have done, for this was the fate she dreaded most – when something that seemed like a blur of living darkness shot into the middle of her attackers like a missile. She thought to have seen the blurred image of flying fists and long, razor-sharp fangs in a pale face, but perhaps she'd hit her head too hard when she rammed it into Nostromo's ugly face. Yes, that had to be the reason. She most certainly was _not_ seeing one of the _vampiresa_. No way.

She felt the grip of her capturers fall away from her and heard the screams and fearful begging of the men who'd attacked her – they were begging for their lives – and she heard a strange sound, a snarl or growl, like that of an angry wolf. It seemed that whoever had come to her rescue was now massacring her attackers in an incontrollable fit of rage, not allowing any one of them to escape.

Ant then, suddenly, there was an eerily silence, broken only by the last, hoarse breaths of the dying men. A large, clawed hand lifted her head almost gently. She looked into the unholy, silver gleaming of unknown eyes and felt absolutely no fear when the bloody fangs pierced her neck like sharp needles.

x

The blood of the girl was sweet and spicy and hot like mulled wine, spiked with adrenaline – Salvador simply couldn't stop feeding. He wasn't like the Ventrue or Toreador connoisseurs, for him, feeding was a necessity, not a luxury. Until now. Until he tasted this precious nectar.

He knew he'd Frenzied earlier, destroying the thugs in the rage of his unleashed Beast, and was still just coming down from it. He needed to feed… the Thirst was always bad after a Frenzy, that was why he rarely gave in to his rage. And right now, as much as he wanted to stop feeding, he found that he simply could not. The urge to stop before he'd be gone too far was nagging on his red-hazed mind, but it couldn't quite break through his temporary madness.

He could clearly enough feel the touch of a small, cold hand upon his forearm, though, and he could hear the quiet, singsong voice of one of his kind in his ears, even through the pounding of his own burning blood.

"Don't kill her, Brujah… don't kill her…"

With a gargantuan effort, he tore his fangs from the girl's neck – and saw a puny little figure, with a face like a bat's snout and the characteristically elongated earlobes of a Nosferatu, glaring at him intently, hesitating between staying and running away. The little rat had probably crawled out of the sewers, lured forth by the scent of all that blood.

Salvador shook in his entire body, forcing the Beast back under control ruthlessly. The sewer rat was right. He didn't want to kill the girl. He wanted to _keep_ her – by any means necessary. His face smoothed back to human disguise again.

"What's your name, Nosferatu?" he asked.

"Bat Child," the small vampire said with a shrug, as if knowing what a less than attractive name that was, "and that's my friend, Peter the Cockroach," he nodded towards one of his clansmen, even smaller, uglier and filthier than himself, who was just about to crawl out of the next sewer exit.

They both eyed the fresh corpses hopefully, with desperate hunger in their eyes, but dared not to make their move. A Brujah just coming down from a Frenzy was not someone whom smaller and weaker vampires would like to provoke.

"You can have them," Salvador waved generously, "if you take care of the corpses afterwards. They would rise too many unwanted questions."

"No one would know they were ever here," Bat Child promised delightfully, and the two small sewer rats fell over the corpses in a near-Frenzy, ready to gorge in the still warm blood. Such a feast would be enough for their entire nest for days.

"Just a moment," Salvador said. "The girl… do you know her?"

Bat Child looked up from Nostromo's body. "Sure, everyone knows her. She's the daughter of the late Don Ottavio de Venango. The half-sister of Manolo de Venango, better known as 'El Diablo'."

"The _haciendero_?" Salvador asked in surprise, his mind clearing up fast. "The one who treats the workers on his _hacienda_ like pack animals or slaves?"

"The same one," Bat Child answered between long, greedy slurps, while other Nosferatu in an equally dishevelled shape kept crawling out of the sewers. "Only that the _hacienda_ is not really his. Nor are the wineries. They all belong to the girl here. Or _will_ belong, as soon as she turns twenty-one. I wouldn't be surprised if 'El Diablo' had arranged to have her killed."

"Interesting," Salvador murmured. The de Venango _hacienda_ was one of the places where he was supposed to help the workers to rise up against their exploiters. And now he had the heiress of this incredible wealth in his hands. That had possibilities.

"I'll take the girl to a safe place," he said to the Nosferatu. "And you've never seen me."

"Of course not," the little sewer rat was back to frantic feeding already. Salvador scooped up the girl in his arms and vanished in the darkness.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Daughter of the Night 2**

**by** **Soledad**

**A "Pathways in the Dark" story**

**Part 01 of "The Anarch Chronicles".**

**Author's notes: **This is a direct continuation of Page 1. I divided the story in two parts so that it would be easier to read.

The idea that Christopher Houghton would wear the body of a 13-year-old is my twist on the facts. The official White Wolf Genealogy says that he was born in 1669 and Embraced in 1692. He's of the 5th generation and almost 300 years old at the time of this story, so he has to be incredibly powerful. I thought such power trapped in a child's body would be interesting.

This is a heavily edited version of this chapter. Adult readers can find the original version at hiddenrealms as a friends-locked entry.

* * *

**Buenos Aires, 1936 **

Valeria came to in a quiet, sparsely furnished room that might have belonged to a hospital, based on the general whiteness of it. She was lying in an unknown – and not very comfortable – bed, and at her side a nun was sitting, clad in white as well, and fingering her rosary while silently praying. Nevertheless, she seemed well aware of her surroundings, as she noticed the awakening of her patient at once.

"Seňorita, how do you feel?" she asked gently. She spoke the dialect of the poor population, so this was probably a charity institution.

"Weak," Valeria replied tiredly. "I feel weak. What happened to me?"

"You were mugged on the street," the nun explained. "You were injured, lost a lot of blood and now have a concussion. Fortunately, Seňor Garcia came across the scene and the muggers fled."

"Seňor… Garcia?" Valeria repeated; the name didn't ring a bell.

"That would be me," a deep, unfamiliar voice replied, and a tall, dark man stepped up to her bed. "I'm glad to see you awake."

"Where am I?" Valeria felt horribly tired, but she needed to know. She might still be in danger from her brother's thugs.

"This is a hospital for the poor," the man named Garcia answered. "My… associates in the city patronize it with what little they have. I've brought you here because this would be the last place for your brother to look for you."

His apparent familiarity with her situation surprised Valeria.

"You know who I am? I can't remember having met you before."

"We have not," he said. "I'm not even from here; I've just come from Spain to visit some friends. But I asked a few peasants, and one of them recognized you."

"You've put yourself to grave risk by coming to my aid," Valeria said. "My brother's arm is long."

"So is mine," the man answered calmly. "But the truth is, I've simply acted on instinct. And your attackers were a bunch of spineless cowards. They fled like shied-up chicken when met someone stronger than themselves."

"But why have you done this?" Valeria asked in amazement. "Why help someone you don't even know? And why are you hiding me still? It's dangerous for you to get involved."

"Not really," the man shrugged. "As I've already said, I acted on instinct. As for the rest… Sor Juana, could you leave us alone for a moment?"

The nun frowned – it wasn't appropriate for young girls of good houses to remain alone with men, even less so with men they didn't really know – but stood nevertheless.

"I'll be on the opposite end of the corridor," she said warningly, "and the door remains open."

"Of course," the man inclined his head respectfully. "I have no hidden agenda. I only want to speak to the seňorita in private… about things that better remain unknown to you. For your own safety, and that of your hospital."

Sor Juana nodded in understanding and left, leaving the door open, so that she could still watch them out of earshot. She knew all too well that knowledge could be a two-edged sword, and ignorance could be a bliss. She had no real desire to learn any secrets that would endanger their important work here.

"Seňorita," the man named Garcia said when they were finally alone, "I'm telling you a truth that could be dangerous for both of us, but as we fight the same enemy here, I think you need to know it."

Valeria frowned; this was a strange preamble, but she had the feeling that she could trust the man. After all, he'd saved her life while risking his own in the fight. She couldn't know, of course, that her instinctive trust had been orchestrated through the faint bound between them, created by the fact that the vampire had nearly drained her. A moment later, and she'd have either died or become one of the undead herself.

"Go on," she said warily.

"Have you ever heard of a movement called _La Hermandad_?" Salvador Garcia asked.

"Who hasn't?" Valeria replied with a shrug.

Indeed, who hasn't? These men were well known – and feared – among the _hacienderos_ in several South American countries… especially among the ones like her brother who abused their workers. Manolo often mentioned the members of this movement, calling them _anarchistas_, who fuelled the riots among the poor, encouraging them to rise against their oppressors and wrestle their freedom from the hands of the rich, if necessary with knives and bullets and bombs. The penniless, exploited workers, especially the Indios, spoke about the _anarchistas_ as if they were God's gift to them, as the movement even managed to organize some financial support fort heir starving families, and a bit of protection for themselves.

"The old stable hands of the _hacienda_ mention it sometimes," she added, "with their hands held before their mouths. They spoke about these people with respect and hope. As if they were their saviours."

To her surprise, the man grinned.

"No, they weren't taking about _the_ Saviour," he said, "they were talking about _me_. My name is Salvador, that's all."

"You are with _La Hermandad_?" Valeria asked.

"I'm the one who founded it," Salvador Garcia replied, "and I'm its leader. I've been fighting for the rights of the poor farmers and workers for many years by now; once I used to be one of them. Until the _policia_ caught me and my little brother and literally beat us to death. I survived somehow, thank one of my _compadres_, but for my brother, it was too late. The sad part is, he wasn't even one of us."

"One of _La Hermandad_?"

"No, I was with the _Mano Negra_ back home, in my beloved _Espaňa_. That was many years ago. When I was sent to the Americas to support the fight here, we organized _La Hermandad_ to have a network of people and places for our safety."

"Why have you saved me then?" Valeria asked. "You must see me as your arch enemy. I'm everything you and your people hate and fight against."

"No," Salvador said, "your brother, 'El Diablo' is whom we hate and fight against. The workers on your _hacienda_ told us that things have been different at your grandfather's times. They were even better at your father's times. There is no reason why they couldn't become better again."

"So, what do you want from me?" Valeria asked. "You're protecting me for a reason, aren't you?"

Salvador nodded. "Once you receive your inheritance, it'll be in your power to change things on your _hacienda_. You wouldn't be the first member of the _aristocratia_ who understand their duty towards the poor people depending on them. There are ways to run a _hacienda_ to the mutual advantage of owners and workers. Your father and grandfather knew this. You could make it work, too… if you are willing."

"I wouldn't be adverse," Valeria said carefully. She could still remember happier times, when the workers were content with how things were done; the times of her maternal grandfather _and_ the early years of her father's ownership. "But I have no experience in business, nor can I do a thing until I've turned twenty-one. And that's still eight months away."

"I've made some research on your family," Garcia said, not mentioning that most of it had been done by a local Nosferatu information merchant. "Your employees, the ones who're still in position, are more than capable of running things when they are left alone. And we can provide help, if necessary. We can show the poor that there _is_ a way of coexistence that actually works. _Then_ they'll be willing to fight for it."

"You'd want money from me for your purposes, wouldn't you?" Valeria asked bluntly.

The Anarch leader nodded. "Of course I would. In exchange, I'm offering you the chance to lead a life of your choice. I can help you to get to the United Stated safely, to find a place to live and a pastime – or even work, if that's what you prefer – that would satisfy your interests. I've got a certain… influence in South California. We can work out a detailed treaty with the help of your lawyers, if you want, as soon as you turn twenty-one."

"You want to become a business partner?" Valeria asked, with a hint of suspicion in her voice.

"I want limited access to your financial sources, in exchange of your freedom and safety," Salvador Garcia answered. "You set the limits; any steady source of money would be invaluable for the cause."

Valeria thought about that for a moment, not knowing that the vampire's mesmerising powers had already made her perceptive for the idea. It sounded reasonable enough. She wasn't particularly interested in business, although she did feel sorry for the poor workers suffering under Manolo's heavy hand. She just wanted the money and her freedom. She didn't really care who would run the business, as long as it was running smoothly.

"Very well," she said, "but how do you intend to get me safely out of Buenos Aires?"

The Anarch laughed. It made his broad, stern face look at least ten years younger, and Valeria noticed for the first time how warm his dark eyes could be, full of hidden sorrow, but for the moment free of all anger. He was a very attractive man, although not the youngest anymore. She guessed he had to be in his late thirties.

"Actually, you've left this morning by ship," he said, producing a newspaper and unfolding it on Valeria's bed.

The headline announced in bold letters: "**_Seňorita Velez leaves for the States"_** and below that was a short article, describing how the heiress of the huge Velez empire had left Buenos Aires with a friend of her late mother, Russian aristocrat Leonid Barofsky. There was even a photograph about a pretty young woman with a close enough likeness to Valeria, leaving on the arm of an elegantly greying, middle-aged man. They stood on board of the luxury cruiser _Aida_.

"Were are these people?" Valeria asked, stunned.

"Leonid is an old acquaintance of mine," Salvador replied. "The girl is someone whom we've paid to play your role. "She'll be waiting for you in Los Angeles. You'll need some personnel, and she's very reliable." In fact, she was Barofsky's ghoul, but Valeria didn't need to know _that_.

"That still doesn't answer the question how _I am_ going to leave the country unnoticed," Valeria pointed out.

"I'm working on it," Salvador replied. "Your false papers will be ready within the week. A friend of mine is arriving tomorrow with news about the safety of possible routes. We'll decide together which one to take. I understand you have some support in Los Angeles?"

"A law firm my father always worked with," Valeria replied. "_Navital & Waters_" they are called. They'll help me to organize some financial background, so that I can find the right place to live for the next eight months."

"Very well," Salvador nodded. "You should rest now. We might have to move you later, to a more secure place, just in case. Try to get some sleep as long as you can."

Valeria smiled tiredly. The thought to go on such a long trip with two practically unknown men didn't even appear strange to her, due to the Domination of the vampire's mind. Fortunately for her, she was dealing with a vampire here who had her best interest in mind.

Or what seemed to be one's best interests for an Anarch vampire anyway.

* * *

Alonzo Solace arrived a day later, shortly before sunrise. He came by automobile – a sturdy black vehicle with tinted glasses and a lot of weapons and bottled blood supplies kept in cleverly hidden storage places. He gave a detailed report about his activities in Los Angeles and spoke optimistically about the LA situation. About the chance for young Anarch vampires to set foot in that city and live there as they please, in peace with the _Kine_, just like in the ancient times of Carthage.

"There _is_ Camarilla presence there," he said, "but they don't have the same suffocating grip on the city as back home. Los Angeles is geographically divided into many different parts – an open city, hard for _one_ power to control. We'll be able to get rooted there and grow strong."

"Does the city have a Prince?" Salvador asked.

Alonzo nodded. "Yes. A sixth generation Toreador named Don Sebastian Dominguez has proclaimed himself as the Prince in 1870. But his control doesn't go any further than the Downtown area."

"Still, he's of old blood," Salvador said thoughtfully, "which means he must be a powerful one. What about supporters?"

"They come mostly from his own Clan," Alonzo reported. "The most important one is his brood brother, a certain Joaquin Murietta, who's also his Enforcer – a smart man, and a vicious fighter, they say. He can become a problem. The Prince's own progeny is another matter entirely. The most important one is Victor Girard – in his breathing days the owner of the _Girard Country Club_ and the entire Girard township. He's a fashion designer whom the Prince has Embraced to watch over the growing industrial base of LA. He is little known yet, but can become very important one day, as he has excellent connections."

"And the others?" Salvador asked.

"Well, the ones loyal to him don't really count," Alonzo nodded. "More interesting is the fact, though, that his pet Childe, Isaac Abrams, whom he'd Embraced to control the movie industry in Hollywood, has gone Anarch on him over so-called 'artistic differences' and is now his strongest opponent. Isaac keeps Hollywood under strict Anarch control, even though Hollywood Hills belong to the Camarilla."

"Hmmm…" Salvador digested the news for a while. "Who's sired this Toreador Prince?"

"Christopher Houghton," Alonzo shivered involuntarily. "A true monster, if you ever met one. He's of Ancient Blood – fifth generation, Embraced in the seventeenth century. Fortunately, he also wears the body of a thirteen-year-old boy. If caught unaware, he could be destroyed by sheer force, if necessary. Also, he must hold back in public, in order not to endanger the Masquerade."

"Still, we'll have to keep an eye on him," Salvador said. "He could be very dangerous for us. We're not used to monsters in children's bodies anymore. All right. How strong is the Ventrue presence?"

"There are a lot of them, but they are mostly young, 8th generation or younger," Alonzo replied. "And most of them are Camarilla _and_ in the movie industry, save from two lawyers who operate a very successful law firm, _Navital & Waters_. The most influential one is Louis Fortier, a former French aristocrat and professional soldier. Currently, he's the Ventrue Primogen in LA – has been since 1912, in fact – but it's said that he's not content with Don Sebastian's rule. So, while he might not side with us openly, he could be a valuable ally in the background. More so since he practically rules West LA as his own Domain."

"I'll keep that in my mind," Salvador nodded. "What about our own Clan?"

"Well, the strongest supporter of the Camarilla is a rich industrial named Justin Davies," Alonzo informed him. "His Childe, Cyrus, is also his business partner, working under the mortal name of Russell Winters. Davies is loyal to the Prince, but his Childer are very ambitious. One of them, Tara, is the Prince of San Diego, and I do have the impression that Cyrus himself is out to get Don Sebastian's office."

"The better for us," Salvador shrugged. "They'll support us against the Prince when it comes to a fight."

"They also might be planning to play us and the Prince against each other," Alonzo warned.

"They're welcome to try," Salvador replied coldly. "What about the local Anarch forces?"

"Well, some of Marguerite Foccard's Childer are already in position," Alonzo said, "and more might be coming. Then there is Smiling Jack, a rather unsavoury fellow, who's said to have been a Caribbean pirate in the seventeenth century – he fanatically hates the Camarilla, but can't really be controlled by anyone, so we should be careful while dealing with him. And there is a recently Embraced – and abandoned – fledgling, a Caitiff, with a great fire in him. I think you should take him under your wings. His name's Nines Rodriguez. But, unlikely as it sounds, I think we can count on the Anarch Ventrue. They are strong, and they have a deep hatred towards the Prince. They even accuse him to be in league with the Sabbat."

Salvador raised an eyebrow, inquired. "How likely is that?"

"Highly unlikely," Alonzo replied. "Don Sebastian has been leading a regular witch hunt against the Sabbat – or whom he considers the Sabbat – for the last decade or so. He had several members of his own Clan destroyed, who just wanted to join us against the restrictions of the Camarilla. The Childer of those victims could be our best allies."

"That has to wait, for the time being," Salvador replied. "We'll drive up to California again, and then take a ship from Mexico to Spain. We are needed at home."

Alonzo shrugged. He didn't ask why they had to go back where he'd just returned from. He didn't care. Salvador was family, and as long as he could remain with his family, the location or the route was all the same for him.

"You should feed and rest," Salvador added; the apparent youth of Alonzo always made him treat the other vampire as he would treat one of his long-dead younger brothers. Even though Alonzo was, in fact, half a century older than him. Having grown up as the eldest of eight siblings could do that to a person.

"I will," Alonzo replied, "But first I've got an itch in desperate need to be scratched."

He stepped closer to Salvador, rubbing his crotch against the other vampire's to illustrate the meaning of his words. Salvador sighed. Not that he'd have had anything against a quick recreational tumble in the sheets… under normal circumstances. Alonzo was a beautiful creature, not to mention sensuous and fierce – and that was the problem. Their sexual encounters usually led to heavy blood-sharing, and right now, Salvador's controls were precarious at best.

"Alonzo," he said regretfully, groping the tight, shapely ass of his _compadre_, "this is not the right time…"

Alonzo's characteristic, quick anger spiked at once. He never took rejection well, most likely because of his past.

"Not the right time?" he snarled, grabbing Salvador's collar and crushing their mouths together in a brutal kiss. "You goddamn peasant, I haven't had a decent drop of Clan blood for weeks – you know I'm choosy with whom I share – and haven't been laid even longer, and you dare to deny me? Do you think I can't _take_ from you what I need, just because I always ask nicely? Well, watch me! I'm older and stronger than you!"

He grabbed Salvador's arm with a vice-like grip and tore open the other vampire's wrist with his fangs savagely, drinking with deep, desperate gulps, the indescribable feeling of _home_ spreading through his entire being like a warming fire. He could taste Ferdinand in Salvador's Vitae. It wasn't the same, of course, but the closest he could get here. Just as Ferdinand was the closest thing he had to a Sire.

One always experienced the sensation of homecoming when tasting the Blood of one's own Clan, even if it came from a different bloodline. But ever since Ferdinand had found the newly Embraced fledgling on the streets of Barcelona, abandoned by his unknown Sire, half-starved and crazed with blood lust, Alonzo had developed an unsettling dependence from Ferdinand's Vitae. Which was part of the reason why he got paired up with Salvador every time he had to leave Spain for a lengthy trip. It was a weakness – the only one he had – but it couldn't be helped.

For a moment, Salvador let himself be washed away by the ecstatic sensation of being fed from – then he tore his bloody wrist from Alonzo's mouth and backhanded the other vampire with such a brutal force that Alonzo's skull hit the wall with a loud _crunch_.

"You stupid, selfish bastard of a useless nobleman," he growled. "You want a fight? I'll give you one!"

Alonzo was as quick as lightning and twice as dangerous. But now he was cornered, and thus Salvador had the advantage of greater mass. His broad body was more heavily built, with dense muscles that he had developed in his mortal years, by labouring in the burning sun on the fields in Andalusia. In a situation where physical strength was required few could take it up with him.

Wrestling Alonzo's arms behind his back and holding both captured wrists in one iron hand, Salvador slammed the other vampire face-down onto the table.

After a fast and furious coupling, Alonzo went limp under Salvador's body. Although sexually very active, even for a vampire, he usually preferred women. If he slept with other men, he always dominated them. Only with Salvador could he let go of his control and wariness completely. Only to Salvador did he always submit. Seeing from the outside, their relationship might seem abusive, with him as the abused party. But Alonzo _needed_ these rough encounters, especially when he had been separated from his "family" for a longer time span. It was his way to rebound with them. And since Ferdinand would never touch him – either of them, or any of his other progeny – that way, he had to turn Salvador to satisfy his secret needs.

"You little fool," Salvador murmured a good deal later – after they had cleaned up and were now resting on the bed. "What crawled up your ass and bit you again? You could have sent me into Frenzy with that stupid act. I could have killed you."

"Your hold on the Beast is better than that," Alonzo replied lazily, snuggling up on his side and resting his head on his broad chest.

"I _did_ Frenzy last night," Salvador said grimly. "I've killed at least five men in my rage. Not that they didn't deserve it, mind you, but I tore them to pieces. And afterwards, I nearly drained the girl I was trying to save."

"_What_?" Alonzo sat up so suddenly that he almost fell off the bed. "What on Earth happened to you to lose it like that?"

In a few poignant sentences as was his wont, Salvador described last night's events and explained the possible advantages of winning Valeria Annunciata de Venango y Velez – and her considerable wealth – for the Anarch cause.

"But the truth is, I'd have interfered for any penniless street girl, too," he admitted. "They wanted to capture her and violate her – just like those bastards did with my sweet little sister, Iris, back home. I was too late to save her; I swore at her grave that I'd never walk away when I can save any girl from the same fate."

Alonzo nodded, familiar with the story already. "Do you think the girl would really support us?" he then asked doubtfully.

"Oh, I want more than just her money," Salvador replied with a dark smile. "I want her for the Clan. You should have seen how she fought, Alonzo. She'd shot three of the thugs already, and fought with a revolver in each hand as long as the bullets lasted. And even while they were holding her arms, she managed to break the chief honcho's face with her forehead and kicked him in the nuts. She'll make a fabulous Brujah."

"If Ferdinand allows you to make a Childe," Alonzo commented.

"I've been freed half a century ago," Salvador said. "I'm my own vampire now and can do as I please. Ferdinand has fought for our freedom all his unlife – he won't interfere. I could have made Childe a long time ago if I wanted."

"You did not? Why? I always thought you'd want a really big brood."

"I do. But I've never met one I'd have liked to keep before," Salvador looked up at his friend. "What about you?"

"What about me?" Alonzo asked back.

"Why have _you_ never made a Childe?"

"Oh, that?" Alonzo shrugged. "Too much responsibility. I prefer to travel light – in every aspect."

"Me, I've always wanted a big family in my breathing days," Salvador said thoughtfully. "In the Kindred sense of it, I still do. Perhaps it's time to start one."

"Yeah, but would a pretty and disgustingly rich girl want to become a bloodsucking monster?" Alonzo asked.

"She wouldn't be the first one among us who came from a rich – or noble – family," Salvador pointed out. "Ferdinand isn't a peasant, and neither are you."

"Well, my joining the undead wasn't exactly voluntary," Alonzo reminded dryly. "Some idiot tore my throat out and left me behind in the middle of the Becoming. I'd never have made it without Ferdinand, you know that. Either the vampire hunters would get to me and destroy me – or the Justicars of the Prince."

"I know," Salvador nodded. "I'm glad he's taken you in. I'd have missed my mortal brothers too much without you."

"I was so terribly jealous of you, you know," Alonzo said softly. "Before you, it was always just Ferdinand and me. I could pretend that he was my Sire. But when he Embraced you… that all changed, forever. I mean, he'd taken me in, sure, but your were his _Childe_. He hadn't made a Childe before you for at least sixty years, and the others were all dead by then. It felt as if I wasn't good enough anymore."

"He never intended to Embrace me," Salvador shrugged. "He only did it because I was dying, and he needed my fighting skills for the cause. We never had that particular bond you have with him."

"Perhaps," Alonzo replied. "But I was so afraid that since he had a fledgling, one who was his own, he wouldn't want to be bothered with me anymore. That he'd kick me out of his unlife."

"He'd never do that!" Salvador protested. Alonzo nodded.

"I know that. I always have. But fear is seldom reasonable, and I was been terrified to be left behind, alone, an unwanted Caitiff again," he offered Salvador his arm. "Drink from me."

"Alonzo, I can't! I've had too much last night, the Beast lurks dangerously close to the surface."

"If you dare to push me away now, I'll tear your throat out," Alonzo's eyes gleamed in silver, his voice was icy and deadly serious.

"And if I bite you now and lose control, I might tear out _your_ throat," Salvador reminded him.

"I don't care," Alonzo yelled. "Damn you, Salvador, you know I need the link re-established. It's been too long since we last shared, it's already faded to almost nothing. You know I can't bear being alone in my own skull, dammit!"

Salvador knew it, of course. Without the soothing presence of a Clan brother in his mind, Alonzo was constantly plagued by the horrid memories of his short and violent mortal life. Left alone, he'd become madder than a Malkavian in no time.

"Very well," he sighed in defeat, "let's share."

A moment later they were attached to each other's wrists, completing the circle of passion, thirst and mutual dependence. While both rejected the slavery of a Blood Bond that would make a vampire less than a slave towards his Regnant, the mutual bond created by frequent blood-sharing meant a great deal for both of them.

It was family, friendship and passion, all rolled into one.

It was the deepest connection two vampires could have with each other and still keep their independence.

It was the foundation of their unlives.

The End

Continued in "Inheritance".


End file.
